


Rebuilding History

by MaxCassius



Category: Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 14:16:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11404146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxCassius/pseuds/MaxCassius
Summary: Reviving this off of an ancient fanfic.net account I had, hopefully this will get the story revived when I've got some time.Tessa Cousland survived and quelled the Blight, but Ferelden still isn't safe. As the new Warden Commander of her country, it's her job to deal with it, but she never thought that would include deciding the fate of the remaining scion of the family that destroyed hers...





	1. All Good Things

Chapter One: All Good Things

Mother's wide green eyes frantically searched mine, her silver hair pulled into twin buns at the back of her head, too neat and put together for the scene behind her – a blood splattered hall, littered with the bodies of three intruding soldiers and my mabari, his dark fur slick with gore as he stood, fangs bared and rumbling a deep bass growl at the exit to the castle's private chambers.

"Darling," she gasped. "Are you alright?" At my nod, her eyes shifted to the men on the ground. "These aren't ordinary bandits... Look at their shields! These are Howe's men!"

The scene swam, turning into the vision of my sister-in-law, Oriana and her young son, Oren, lying slain in a pool of blood in my brother's private chambers, my own voice superimposed over it, raspy with rage.

"Traitor! He attacks while our troops are away!"

"Where's your father? He never came to bed!" My mother's softer, urgent inquiry, as again the nightmare shifted, this time through a feverish flurry of fighting through the halls of Highever castle to the grand hall, to Ser Gilmore and his men trying valiantly to hold the gates.

"He probably stayed up with Arl Howe. We need to find him!"

The Fade changed the vision of the nightmare once more, playing one last trick with my memories. This time to my father lying his own blood by the servant's exit, my mother crouched at his side, holding him and whispering reassuring words, as the Grey Warden Commander, dusky skinned and solemn Duncan, took me by my arm and started to drag me away.

"I love you both," my voice was husky, torn by withheld tears. "So much."

My mother's smile, her warm gaze met mine. "Then live, darling. Live..." Her grip on my father, Teyrn Bryce Cousland's, shoulder tightened. "Live, and take vengeance."

I woke in a cold sweat, heart hammering in my chest, paying no heed to the ache each beat stirred up anew. For a moment, I lay on my side, staring into the darkness of the bedchamber, trying to remember where I was. My senses were still trapped in the living nightmare – the loss of almost my entire family – smelling the smoke and iron of blood in the air, hearing the shouts of people as they ran or fought for their lives, the whistle of arrows through the night and the clash of steel swords, all as clear to me as though they had happened hours ago, not over a year in the past.

Then I remembered. My father's promise to Duncan that, in exchange for his taking me from Highever to safety, I would become a Grey Warden. The Blight. The terrible failure at Ostagar, and the heavy subsequent burden that had been placed on me and my fellow Warden, Alistair, as the last ones left in Ferelden. The burden of ending the Blight and saving Ferelden, and possibly all of Thedas. The adventures, the experience of gathering our ragtag band – an apostate, a Circle mage, an elven assassin, one who had been sent expressly to kill us, no less, a Qunari soldier, a drunken dwarf, a religious Orlesian bard, and a pigeon-hating golem with an inexplicable sense of free will – flooding back into me in a rush of vibrant images and powerful emotions.

The memory of persuading Alistair to do some dark ritual with the apostate Morrigan, so that we could both survive the slaying of the archdemon. Then actually facing the dragon atop the fortress of Fort Drakon, straddling the beast's neck and hacking at its scales with my daggers until it fell.

As brutal as the memory was... It was a relief. I had honored the order my father had sworn me to. I had done my duty to both my family and my country, as a Cousland always should. I only wished he could be here, at the royal palace in Denerim, to celebrate this victory and crown Ferelden's new king.

New king. That's right, Alistair's coronation was today. I sat up slowly, feeling an added weight tether my heart as I remembered King Cailan Theirin and Duncan, both of whom had fallen at Ostagar, along with many of the kingdom's men and the entire order of the Grey Wardens, save Alistair and myself.

Ferelden had lost its king and its Warden Commander all in one fateful night. Along with its greatest general, a powerful, well liked teyrn – thankfully, my elder brother could inherit that legacy – a queen, and an influential arl. This celebration really would be a day of mixed emotions and huge changes. For everyone.

Alistair would be stepping up to take his half brother's place as king. My brother would take over the Cousland teyrnir of Highever and start anew. The lands of Arl Howe and Teyrn Loghain would be distributed to new lords. New Grey Wardens would be sent to Ferelden to recruit new Wardens for its base.

As for me? Really, I didn't have the slightest clue. I suppose the best I could hope for was a quiet retirement, maybe back home in Highever, when my brother went. If I could stand being there again, and not see the ghosts of my mother and father, Mother Mallol, Nan, Ser Gilmore, and all the others who had died there during Howe's treacherous siege.

Staring into the dark, the memory, a much more recent one, came unbidden to my mind.

I slammed open the heavy wooden door, Alistair, Zevran, and Morrigan at my back. Just beyond, in the prison antechamber, stood Arl Howe with a pair of his guards and a court mage. Anger churned in my stomach, like acid. Not only had he felled Highever, adding it to his arling of Amaranthine, but he'd taken the title of Arl of Denerim as well, assisting Loghain, hiring assassins, torturing nobles deemed to be too loyal to the Theirin rule, running after the power mad general like a stunted mabari, snagging up scraps of influence in the wake of his corrupt civil war.

Upon the name of the Couslands, my family, I swore to myself he would die here.

"Howe!" I barked, twisting my daggers up into a ready position. "Traitor! What do you think you've been doing here, you filthy little snake?" I could practically feel the amused glee from Morrigan. This was the kind of scene she lived for.

"Ahh," Howe lazily turned to face me, his nasal voice mocking, condescending. "If it isn't Bryce's little spitfire. All this time, and still no one's shown you your place, girl?"

"If we're going to talk like that," my voice was cold, frigid as Highever in the winter. "Then we really should be talking about who's about to put you in your place, Howe."

He laughed. The son of a bitch, he laughed in my face. "Oh," he said derisively. "Is this the part where I have to deal with the monster I created? Please. You have much to learn." He smirked. "Watch." He stepped forward, leaning in much closer than I ever would have let him if I had expected it. "I made your mother kiss my feet before I killed her. It was the last thing your father saw before he died."

Maker help me. That did it. I snapped, plunging a dagger recklessly for his side. He, of course, was ready for the thoughtless move, and drew his small battle axe, using the curved edge to deflect, hooking my blade and ripping it from my hand, tossing it across the room.

No matter. I had another. I charged him again. This signaled the start of the fight, and from behind me, Alistair surged forward with his shield arm up, throwing one of the guards that had come at me to defend his lord clean off his feet, expertly switching stance to swing his father's blade with deadly skill. Zevran, using the training the Antivan Crows had given him to its fullest, burst out of the shadows and plunged a knife into the mage's chest, sending him to the ground, gurgling on his own blood before he could finish the spell he'd been about to cast. Morrigan froze the other guard, leaving Alistair to shatter him with a harsh blow of his shield.

That left Howe and me. Just as it should be.

The icy wind left in the wake of Morrigan's spell stung my face and my hands, even through my leather gauntlets, but I ignored it. Howe had to back up to get me in range of the swing of his axe. I couldn't let that happen. I kept coming, staying on top of him and hacking at his leather tunic with my remaining dagger, slowly backing him toward where my other had fallen.

We were on top of it when I took the hit. Howe had given up on trying straight for getting me with the blade of his axe. Instead, he swept out a foot, knocking me off balance, and smacked me in the head with the blunt end of his axe.

I went down, and went down hard, black spots dancing across my vision. Howe laughed. "This is all the legendary Grey Wardens can do? No wonder the teyrn doubts your ability to end the Blight!"

I ignored him, and thankfully, my friends had the good sense to stay back and let me have this fight. Maybe it was frantic, maybe it lacked grace, but my hand closed around the handle of my dropped dagger, and I rolled onto my back to get a good look at Howe, and I grinned. I felt the smile freeze and fracture my lips, cold as fresh fallen snow.

"You want to see what the Wardens can do?" I asked softly. Then I threw the dagger. It hit with enough force to pierce his leathers, plunging into his lower chest. Howe dropped his axe, letting it land on the stone floor with a clatter as his hands gripped the hilt of my dagger, wavering before falling to his knees, face contorted with pain.

Good. Maker, did it do my heart good to see that.

I pushed myself to my feet, a little dizzy and unsteady at first, approaching Howe with slow, weaving strides as my head rang from the knock with his weapon. My hand rested for a moment on the hilt of the sword at my waist, a hilt stamped with the Cousland family crest, the curved olive branches. I had never been big on swords, never quite been big or strong enough to wield one properly, but, as my mother had said, it was this blade that should slit Arl Rendon Howe's treacherous throat.

With the stark shink of metal on metal, I drew the sword from its sheath, taking a firm grip in Howe's hair with my free hand, jerking his head back to force him to look up at me, and to hyperextend his neck.

"My only regret," I said silkily, raising the blade to rest the sharp edge, feather light, across the exposed neck. "Is that I have to sully my family blade with your blood." The darkspawn's acidic, tainted blood was like mother's milk in comparison to the stuff that ran in Arl Howe's veins.

"Maker spit on you," Howe hissed raspily in return, his gray eyes afraid, but still fierce. "I deserved more!"

And with that, I jerked the blade, severing his throat. And I let him hit the floor.

I would take the Maker's damnation a thousand times for that.

I blinked, shivering against the numbing chill that had wrapped around my heart and leeched through my body. That night had changed me, and I didn't know how permanent it was. I hadn't truly laughed since, the satisfaction of ending Howe having, in reality, been an empty victory, seeing as it would never bring my family back. Distant and dutiful, I had pressed forward, won the Landsmeet, defeated the Blight, and now Alistair would take his place on the throne, after all the others of his family.

But what if all this, all the good I had done, had damaged me permanently? Would I get to be myself again?

It was far too cold in here for just this nightshirt.

I was about to get up and find my leathers when, without a knock, the door creaked open, letting in flickering torchlight from the hall. The lack of common courtesy for the new "Hero of Ferelden" could only mean one person.

Zevran.

Sure enough, it was his face, oddly delicate for an assassin, but perfectly ordinary yet handsome for an elf, that popped around the edge of the door, long blond hair sweeping his leather clad shoulders and odd amber eyes glittering in the dimness with their usual cheer.

"Rise and shine, my dear Warden," he fairly purred in his heavy Antivan accent. "The rest are up, and the festivities await, no?"

"Yeah, yeah, Zev," I managed to give him a weak smile."I'm coming, if you wouldn't mind letting me get dressed... You know. Alone. Privacy. That thing you don't quite have a grasp of yet?"

I joked, but I knew it wasn't true. Zevran internalized, had buried things – regrets, doubts, fears – deep inside himself. Things that he had only reluctantly told me about, only once he realized he'd found a true friend and an understanding ear in me.

However, the damned observant elf noticed the half heartedness in my smile, my jab at his lack of manners, or both. Those bright eyes scrutinized me more closely, feeling very much as though they were piercing me as effectively as he had once tried with his daggers.

Among other things, but that was a different story.

However, for once he chose the tactful route. He shrugged merrily, not pressing for more than I was willing to give, as was his way. "Your loss," he said carelessly. "Just bear in mind, who else could protect you, should the Crows storm these stone walls?"

I rolled my eyes, this time getting up and ignoring the fact that I could feel him eyeing my legs, which were, for what felt like the first time in forever, exposed and not wrapped in boots and greaves. I turned my back on him, opening the wardrobe to find my newly cleaned and repaired armor. Good. It'd been awfully sooty after breaking the darkspawn siege of Denerim and battling the archdemon.

Completely ignoring Zevran when he was in the room, especially a bedroom when an impending change of clothes was involved, however, was about as bad an idea as bad ideas came. The man got up to all kinds of mischief when left to entertain himself, and it was always a good idea to keep him talking to keep track of where he was standing. So I threw him a little sarcasm to chew on while I pulled down my armor.

"Oh, yes, because I'm sure the Crows infiltrated the palace months ago," I said. "They knew I would survive all of this, and would be here around this time, and they personally picked what room I was to be put in, I'm sure. All to make sure their contract on the Warden was carried out, of course."

"You never know." Damn it. I hated it when I was right. Silent as a cat, he'd snuck up right behind me, and now his hands rested over mine, his chest pressing against my back. In that moment, he was silent, and I had to wonder why, by the Void we weren't a couple, why I didn't just pull the one man who seemed to understand and never question me to the bed and get it over with right then and there.

Because you look at him and see a brother first, A truthful voice in my head brutally reminded me. Someone who knows exactly what you're going through, service to an order you didn't choose and living through loss after loss, and yet still, for some unfathomable reason, wanting to survive. Hard to keep a lover in your elven brother, right?

Damn it.

"Okay, okay, Zev," I said cajolingly, pretending to ignore his touch and yanking the armor down, tossing it onto the bed and turning to him, pressing my hands to his shoulders to force him around. "Get outta here, and you can bother me when I get downstairs in a few minutes."

"Ahh, but it's so much more private in here! Unless..." The assassin smirked at me over his shoulder. "You like having an audience?"

I felt my cheeks burn. "Damn you," I muttered under my breath, working on sheperding him out of my chambers. It was like herding a cat. He went, but he weaved and dodged with it, and with his light step, that made getting him to the door, out, and the door shut behind him difficult, even for someone like me with a skillset similar to his.

I finally got him out and slammed the locking bolt home. I had some comfort in the knowledge that he likely couldn't pick it – Leliana and I had all the lockpicking ability in our merry band. Zevran relied on his speed and stealth.

I heard him chuckle. "I'll tell the others you'll be down in a little bit. They did not want to begin the coronation ceremony without their hero present."

Their hero. Huh. Now that was going to take some getting used to. From the Cousland's roguish little girl, who's antics were tolerated because of my status as the most powerful eligible daughter in Ferelden, to an honest-to-goodness icon, all in one fell swoop. I couldn't help but be reminded of what Alistair had once said about Morrigan. "Swooping is bad".

Well, I suppose time would tell how this would turn out.


	2. What was Lost and What was Gained

Chapter Two: What was Lost and What was Gained

A few moments later, I had my armor on, daggers strapped to my hips, and had managed to find my way through the maze of the palace to Alistair and the Revered Mother who would perform his coronation.

"Ah, there you are." Alistair's grin was wide and genuine. "I was getting worried you'd sleep through the whole thing."

"And leave you to all the glory? Please." I stretched casually, skimming a hand over my pale blond hair, pinned in a smooth, tight cap due to the twin braid-buns at the nape of my neck. "I'd like to think I did my share of life-endangering work. I'd like my recognition now, thank you very much."

"As you say, Hero."

I gave Alistair a wary glare. "Watch it, your Highness."

He grimaced and gave me a more appropriately sheepish smile. "Okay, okay, I'll stop." He gestured to a side door. "Since my coronation happens before your ceremony, you get to enter as part of the crowd and come forward after I'm crowned. Me... I have to walk the gauntlet. By myself."

Oh, I didn't envy him that. I elbowed the silverite of his new royal armor with the light scrape of metal on leather.

"So, how does being king look now that you've taken down the Archdemon?"

Alistair scratched the back of his head. "I still... Don't really know what I'm doing. Still nervous... But you and Eamon were right. With the right help, I can do this. Who knows, maybe I'll even be a good king."

Raised to be a Tyerna one day, I had a pretty good idea of what it might take to rule the country, of what Alistair was going to face down the road. I clapped a hand on his arm, looking up at him with a little grin.

"Just remember, Alistair, the most important part about being a noble is to not let it go to your head. Yes, you've got power, but that doesn't mean you can abuse it. It's about remembering that, while you are the one sitting on the throne and making the decisions, you're doing it to take care of the people that are relying on you. That we all, humans, elves, and dwarves, men and women, aren't really that different, and, one day, you might well owe them something." I laughed at how nervous he looked when my speech concluded, patting his arm again before moving toward the side door. "Don't worry, Alistair. I don't think you'll have any issues with remembering that."

All he has to do is remember what happened to Loghain. To Howe. And I was pretty sure none of those who had gone to the Denerim estate with me that day would soon forget what happened to Rendon Howe.

I pushed open the door to find a packed crowd lining the aisles of the palace audience chamber, all chattering excitedly amongst themselves as the Revered Mother walked onto the dais at the far end, waiting for Alistair to appear so that she could confirm his coronation as king in the eyes of the Maker.

By the Void, it was as though every free man in Ferelden capable of traveling had shown up.

I spied Sten's dark Qunari head above the much shorter humans and elves in the crowd. He was right up at the front – which was where my friends had to be. Meaning that's where I needed to be. And, suddenly, I found myself grateful for my newfound renown. It saved me from having to elbow my way through nobles and peasants alike to get up there – many people just stepped aside with gasps and awed smiles as I approached.

Handy.

Soon, I found myself emerging into a circle of familiar, mismatched faces. Made less familiar by the fact that, aside from Sten and Oghren, the likes of whom the royal tailors probably weren't used to supplying, they were all wearing noble finery for the event. Wynne looked regal in a blue gown with green trim, her white hair pulled neatly back from her grandmotherly face, her Circle staff nowhere to be seen. Leliana looked bubbly and happy in a red and gold gown, entertaining a group of nearby noble boys with her newly crafted tale of my victory over the Archdemon, gesturing animatedly with her hands. Sten stood uncomfortably, looking impatient in his heavy plate with his greatsword strapped to his back, seeming to want nothing more than to move on with this event and get out of here – assumingly back to Par Vollen.

And there, against the wall just beyond Leliana and her storytelling, stood Zevran, looking stately yet mischievous in a red and gold doublet and breeches, laughing at one of Oghren's wild – and probably at least buzzed, if not all-out drunk by now, it was almost noon – rambling with my brother. With Fergus! After over a year of thinking him to be dead, slaughtered by the horde, I just couldn't get tired of seeing the new Teyrn of Highever.

I grinned, slipping silently past the others to fling myself onto my brother, kissing his cheek, scruffy with stubble. "Miss me?" I asked, wrapping my arms around his neck and hugging him tight, like I had when I was a little girl.

Fergus had only been startled for a moment. He was too used to my antics to be caught off guard long. He grinned at me, moving to muss my hair before stopping himself. "That's right, little sister, you're going up to be exalted as the hero soon, aren't you? Guess I'd better let you look the part." He brushed a leather-and-chain gauntleted hand against my cheek. "Though if you go up there crying, all these people are going to wonder where they got themselves such a weepy hero, and how did she take down an evil dragon."

I laughed and let myself slide back to the floor, wiping the last vestiges of happy tears from my eyes myself. "You're a royal ass, you know that?"

Fergus grinned. "I try my best."

I knew he'd thought I was dead too. When he'd escaped the Wilds and come to Denerim to find out that Highever had been sacked, it must have taken all he had not to charge up there and see for himself. He had been scouring the city, trying desperately to find the manpower to take on Arl Howe, to avenge the death of his parents, his sister, his beloved wife and sweet son. But no one had been willing to rise against a man working hand in hand with Loghain Mac Tir. It would be suicide. So Fergus had waited in anguish for something to happen.

And it had. He'd gotten his sister back. What can I say, we all cope in different ways – I got emotional, he joked around and tried to pretend he wasn't.

Zevran clucked his tongue. "Now, now, Ser Cousland, that's no way to start your new life as a Teyrn, letting someone sneak up on you like that." He gestured to indicate the room with a slender hand. "A crowd like this is the perfect place for assassins. So much activity and chaos, they would be in and out unnoticed."

Looked like the Crow training in Zevran was alive and well. I ignored the jab at my brother. He would have guards to see to his protection. Lots of them. Of that, I would make sure of personally, if he made it an issue.

"So, Zev," I asked casually, resting an arm on Oghren's head as he took a swig from a tankard of, judging by the smell, mead, ignoring his muffled grunt of protest. "Were you planning on sticking around, or hightailing it out of here while the getting's good? After all, you paid your oath to me and then some."

Zevran tilted his head in consideration, light amber eyes thoughtful as he looked at me without really seeing me. It was an oddly deep look he took on only when he was truly thinking about something, and, seeing as most of his witty comments were shot off on the fly, he didn't get the look often. It was eerie to be under that gaze.

"Mmm... This is a good question." He shifted his weight, resting his shoulders against the stone wall behind him and crossing his arms across his chest. "If I were to remain here too long, things could get... Sticky. The Crows will almost certainly send someone looking. After all, it is not every day they are bested." A satisfied smirk turned his lips. "However, depending on how you look at it, that kind of 'sticky' could be fun, as well."

I grinned at him. "You know I'm always up for helping you with some assassin slaying if you want to stick around. I could always use a friend around here." I pretended to grimace as Oghren swatted at my leg, and I jerked it back, keeping my elbow firmly planted on the center of his head. "And, you know, a bodyguard against all the morons who think 'Death by Warden' is the popular new method of suicide."

Zev's smile grew then, from carnal and self-satisfied to an all out, happy grin. It was an easy smile that lit up his whole face, and it wasn't the kind one saw often from the ex-Crow, and I was happy that I'd coaxed one out. He'd spent his whole life as nothing more than a tool that lacked identity, being seen as an expendable life. I could only imagine how good it felt to be told that he, specifically, was wanted, and to be given an option, the choice of staying or going.

"Then I will be happy to remain at your side, my dear Warden," he purred smoothly, stepping away from the wall to dip into a theatrical bow. "Should you need my services," He grinned up at me, one of the braids in his hair falling forward to frame his sharp jawline. "Any of them, simply call, and I shall answer and fight against the legions both evil and lacking in survival instinct."

Oghren chose that moment to belch. I backed away then, not wanting to be caught in the cloud of dwarven liquor breath. "Speakin' of, Warden," he growled. "What were you plannin' on doin' after all this is over?"

I shrugged. "In the end, I guess that depends on Alistair. You know, how hopeless he might turn out to be at this whole nobility thing. He might need my help learning to work his new subjects. Though, I'll probably stay in Denerim, for a while, at least, or return to Highever. After that," I glanced toward the main doors, hearing them creak open, spying Alistair beginning his solemn, solo march up the plush carpet of the center aisle. "Who knows," I finished in a whisper, turning to face the approach of Ferelden's new monarch.

I could tell it was taking Alistair's templar discipline to keep from breaking into an all-out run to the dais in his eagerness to get this over with. He kept his walk slow and stately, managing to hold his head high, kept his posture regal and chase any nervousness from the features that so resembled his half brother, Cailan. Though, I did notice his brown eyes darting uneasily around until they found us. Even though Morrigan, as promised, had left after the battle without a trace, Shale hadn't been allowed inside the palace, and my Mabari hound had, wisely, chosen to sleep through the ceremony in the kennels, Wynne, Leliana, Fergus, Zev, Oghren, Sten, and I made a pretty impressive cheering section, considering most of us had spent about a year fighting together, watching each other's backs, and seeing us seemed to bolster his resolve. He smiled a little as he mounted the stairs and bowed to one knee before the Revered Mother.

As she raised her hand over him and began her speech, I noticed Zevran fidgeting beside me, tugging irritatedly at the collar of his doublet, seemingly too tight and scratchy around his neck for his liking. I grinned and elbowed him lightly in the side.

"Aren't you assassins supposed to be able to disguise yourselves as nobility? Shouldn't you be able to keep up this facade for more than twenty minutes?"

"That is the job of a bard," Zev whispered back, his tone dignified as he heedlessly continued tugging at the shirt. "We assassins aren't supposed to be seen, shouldn't be known about until our dagger is sliding between your ribs. Besides," he added as an afterthought. "It is much better to disguise oneself as a servant. Nobles keep their guard up around other nobles, more often than not, yes? But around their servants? Who cares, it is but a servant."

On my other side, Fergus let out an amused chuckle. "You keep interesting friends, dear sister."

Oh, I didn't need to be told that.

As the Mother finished giving the Maker's blessing to Alistair and his rule, he stood and slowly turned to face the large gathering of his subjects, a shy grin on his face.

"Brothers, sisters," He started off a little shaky, as he had when he had given the speech before he had sent our gathered army into the darkspawn-filled city Denerim had been that night, but his voice got more confident, louder, as he spoke. "Countrymen; here I stand before you as your king, as my father and brother did before me, and generations of Theirins did before them." He bit his lip in thought, then continued. "We have fought and won a major victory together, here. We united and defended our country as one when we were called upon to do so, and I hope we will always be able to rely upon one another in times of trouble as we did with the Blight bearing down. It is my hope," His eyes shifted around the room, taking in everyone there. I was pleasantly surprised. I hadn't expected Alistair to be such a strong public speaker. Maybe this nobility thing did run in the blood, at least a little. "That we will continue to help one another, that we will stay united as a country, and that we will continue to grow stronger. Orlais did not defeat us. The darkspawn did not defeat us." Cheers rose up there, and I grinned. "However, it is also my hope that we will remember what was lost, who has sacrificed so that we may end up here, because these people are examples of what we should all live to be."

With that, he turned to meet my eye.

"The Grey Warden who led the charge on Denerim, who slew the Archdemon and defeated the Blight, remains with us still. Tessa Cousland has faced persecution and hardship over this past year to save all your lives, to save Ferelden, and I think her sacrifices and determination in the face of an impossible set of odds deserves to be recognized. My Lady Cousland," Alistair smiled. "Step forward, please?"

A little numb, determinedly ignoring the burning in my cheeks and all the eyes now focused on my back, I approached the dais to stand where Alistair had indicated, slowly angling my body to face both him and the crowd, bowing my head in a gesture of respect to the new king, although the Grey Wardens swore no real fealty, and our laws were separate from any country's. It amused and relaxed me a little to see Zevran turning his head to efficiently sweep the crowd. Ever on the lookout for more assassins.

"Tessa Cousland," Alistair began solemnly. "Through this ordeal, you have lost most of your family, your home, and allowed your identity to be changed to an example of all that a Grey Warden should be. You worked to unite a country torn by war and put the needs of others above your own. While your brother, Fergus Cousland is to inherit the holding of Highever, I wish to bestow a title of a different sort upon you."

Whoa, what? I was getting a new title?

The stunned look must have shown on my face, because Alistair smiled. "It would honor me, Lady Tessa, Hero of Ferelden, if you would also take up the mantle of Commander of the Grey here in Ferelden. After the loss at Ostagar," The sadness in his brown eyes was real, there. He still mourned the loss of Duncan. Honestly, so did I. "We are in need of a new Warden Commander."

Still, it felt like the bottom had dropped out of my stomach, replaced with icy cold worms from the Deep Roads. He wanted me to take Duncan's place? To work to bring Wardens back to Ferelden? By the Void, I wouldn't be honoring him, it would be an honor, and a struggle, to try to pick up in Duncan's footsteps. He had been a capable, wise man. I was still a brash, temperamental kid, hurting over huge losses.

But really, what better could I do for my country?

"I accept, your Majesty." I said respectfully, spying Fergus at the front of the crowd, grinning like I knew our father would have been, face alight with fierce pride and affection. I had to wonder what Mother would have thought of this, her daughter, a potentially sterile Grey Warden, now becoming the head of a fierce, darkspawn-slaying army. She would probably have fainted dead away.

"Thank you, Warden Commander Cousland," Alistair said regally, with just a hint of a smirk and a mirthful light in his brown eyes as he looked to me. "Now, while you have done the country an unspeakable service, you have also done much for me personally in our time together. You have watched my back in battle and never faltered, neither as a friend nor as a comrade. Is there any boon I can offer you as a debt of gratitude?"

My heart jumped. Alistair wanted to make his first order as king paying me back for doing what was right? Was the man just insane? I didn't need payment for that. Although... I can't deny that my first thought was punishing the Howe's even further. Along the lines of stripping their land, titles, taking away everything. Tomas Howe had died, either fighting the Blight or fighting the civil war against Loghain, it was hard to tell, and Rendon had died miserably by my hand. But Delilah Howe was still out there somewhere.

And Nathaniel. He had been away in the Free Marches this whole time. A memory of him, before his father had sent him away, for "squiring", he'd said, swam into my mind, of Nathaniel and Oswyn, who would keep me company while my father and brother were busy at Landsmeets. Nathaniel had been the definition of noble, then, always choosing to hold his tongue and think before he spoke, remaining quiet and listening before taking action, and always being fair minded and defending those weaker than himself. I had always thought him a better man then the other men in his family. But it had been years since his father had sent him away. I couldn't say if he'd changed or not.

But it was his memory that stilled the childish demand on my tongue.

"I simply request that the sacrifices of the Wardens be remembered," I said diplomatically. "Duncan, Riordan, all of them. I want them remembered, and the importance of the things this order does to live on in the hearts of the people." A ghost of a smile quirked my lips. "I really don't ever want to have to run around pleading favors again. Or being a wanted fugitive. Fort Drakon? It's a good prison. Lets not waste it on Wardens."

Alistair didn't look surprised that my request was not for myself, but he did seem surprised at my break from decorum. At the Landsmeet where he had been voted king and Loghain had been executed, I had been a master of polite speech, refraining from taunts and sticking to logic, but now, as far as I was concerned, I was Commander of the Grey. I wouldn't hold another title, my voice in the Landsmeet was gone. As long as people liked me enough to come to aid should the Wardens be needed again, I didn't have any more political concerns. He chuckled before he nodded and continued.

"Yes, well, I can agree with that. We'll start with a monument being built here, in Denerim." Then, his voice took on the kind of heavy, commanding tone I'd never heard from him before. It seemed he thought his next knock to the system would meet with disapproval, and needed the order of a king behind it. "I order the land of Ameranthine stripped from the Howe's control. Possession of this arling is hereby granted to the Grey Wardens, as a base from which to rebuild their order. The Warden Commander will see to these lands and their people as the new Arlessa."

Wait, what did he just do?

I looked at Alistair, wide-eyed and stunned as whispered rippled across the room. Arlessa wasn't as high a title as Teyrna, but it was only a class beneath. And he'd just taken the lands of a noble family, existing since, possibly before Calenhad had united Ferelden, side by side with the Couslands, and he'd given it to the Grey Wardens, an order still viewed with leery distrust, and the daughter of the family they had once served and ultimately wronged.

Howe's lords and ladies were not going to like this at all. But I kept my mouth shut, and simply bowed to my king's command.

Alistair raised a hand to silence the murmuring crowd, then plowed forward. "Now, unless anyone here has anything else they wish to say?" He paused to give anyone who wished to a chance to speak up. "No? Alright then. Let us get on with the festivities. This is a party, after all."\

He lowered his hand and turned to me, a wry smile on his lips. "So, how'd I do?"

"Very impressive, m'lord," I replied a touch sarcastically. I knew damn well he wouldn't stand on ceremony with me. I just liked watching him squirm. It was funny. "My only complaint is... Did you just put me in charge of taking care of that traitorous snake's people?"

"Hey, hey," Alistair admonished, tilting his head to get a long look at me. "Didn't you just recently define 'nobility' for me? You can't judge subjects by their lord." He smiles, patting my cheek lightly, wary of the heavy gauntlet strapped to his arm. "You'll do fine. It'll be hard and you'll have to win their loyalty, but I have faith that you can do it."

I sighed, swatting his hand away in annoyance. Sometimes, faith was all we had to get us through. I knew that now more than ever. In fact, I couldn't ignore it when I looked at Wynne, being supported, kept alive by the Fade spirit of Faith. Didn't change the fact that I hated it when he was right and calling me out on being a big baby.

"Fine. Then I leave for Ameranthine tomorrow."

Alistair bobbed his head in a nod. "If you wish. I'll go call an escort to bring you. A handful of Wardens from Orlais are already there, an escort will help you get acquainted. You, in the meantime, enjoy your party. You've earned it." I couldn't help but notice he was neatly ignoring the fact that Morrigan wasn't present. The way I figured it, he probably wanted to forget the ritual he had performed with her. I knew she had never been his favorite person, and having sex, for the first time, no less, with her, had to have been a chafe to his moral standards.

Shutting out those thoughts, I moved into the crowd, headed to Fergus first. We would be close, since Denerim, Highever, and Ameranthine were all near one another along the northern coasts, but I still wanted to spend time with my brother.

"So," he began, a sly grin on his face as I approached. "Headed to Ameranthine instead now, are we? Remember, little sister, it's going to be a viper's nest down there. These people just lost an Arl that may well have had fortunes tied in his name, that may have had secret deals going on. You need to be careful." A steely glint entered the eyes that were the same dark brown as his shaggy hair. "If you need any help down there, remember that you have the teyrnir of Highever to call upon."

I couldn't help but smile. Damn Fergus for making me remember how good it was to have solid, never wavering support. For making me remember how much I'd been missing my family. "Oh, yes, Fergus, that's exactly what my new people need, to see their brave hero and Commander running home for help when trouble brews. How quickly do you want me assassinated, brother?" I cuffed him on the shoulder. "I'll be fine. You just make sure you've got all your own affairs in order up there."

"I will." The tone of his voice was uncharacteristically solemn. "I plan on making Mother and Father proud, Tessie. However long it might take, Highever will be restored."

"Good," I said fiercely, hugging him again. "Now, let me go talk to the people who actually helped me fight this whole thing, yeah? I might not get to see some of them again." Wynne and Sten chief among them.

Fergus nodded and gave me a playful shove, and I stumbled to catch my balance as I landed in front of Leliana. She smiled and gestured to me, causing the people listening to her to catch me smack in the middle of my loss of grace.

"And so the grand hero enters the stage, to take their final bows, and the curtain closes," she intoned mysteriously in her Orleasian accent, her red hair bright as a copper in the well lit hall.

"You should be taking this bow with me, 'sister'." Leliana blushed when I brought up her initial cover – hiding as a Chantry sister in the little town of Lothering.

"No," she said with a demure smile. "I prefer to leave that to you. Besides," Her blue eyes lit up eagerly. "I'm getting to return on an expedition to the Urn of Sacred Ashes. Brother Genetivi is releasing his research and our findings to the Chantry, and they actually want to look into it!"

I remembered what Alistair had said upon the insistence that the Urn must be shared with all believers. I hope those Ashes are self-replenishing... But aloud, I said, "Sounds exciting for you. Good luck, Leliana, and may the Maker watch over you."

"And may He watch over you, too, Tessa," Leliana returned with grace and warmth, bowing her head as I moved along to Wynne.

The elderly mage smiled. "Ahh, to be young and fresh from victory. How does it feel, hero?" she asked in that gentle, warm-as-honey voice of hers.

"Weird. Definitely weird. And they could have picked something a little more original than 'Hero of Ferelden'."

Wynne chuckled. "That would be Alistair's idea, as I understand it. But you look troubled, child. You should be reveling in your accomplishments. This is a feat not many could have done."

"I couldn't have done it alone," I told her, repeating a similar idea to what I'd said to Leliana. "By the Maker, I probably would have laid down on the dirt and let the darkspawn take me after Ostagar, if Alistair hadn't been there." Yeah, I probably would have. Back then, things had seemed utterly hopeless and impossible, and I had been certain that I had lost everything.

"No one does it all alone," the mage said wisely. "But they chose you as their figurehead hero, and I am perfectly content to live out whatever days I have left with that. Shale asked me to go north to Tevinter with her to see if the Magisters have a way to restore her mortality."

I raised a brow. "Shale wants to become a 'squishy flesh creature' again? I thought she hated our kind, the way she constantly called me 'it'."

Wynne laughed. So, our resident golem wanted to go back to being a dwarf? That was an interesting turn of events.

Sten stood off to the side, glowering at the buffet table. "Where's the cake? They said there would be cake. The cake is a lie." Was he... Pouting? Even if he was, he was an impressive figure, towering over the other guests with his arms crossed broodily over his massive chest.

"You alright over there, Sten?" I called, and he turned his head, the glare lightening. Well, as much as it ever did.

"I am fine. In fact, I wish to speak with you." He straightened and moved closer to me and Wynne, giving me a very serious look. "This... Is how your people celebrate?"

"Yeah. Though it's known to get a lot crazier in some spots." I grinned. "Why, don't the Qunari have parties?"

"We have one type of celebration," Sten said warily. "It is when an honored soldier is titled after his death, as to earn such a title in life would bring sinful pride."

"Oh, I can't even imagine what that must me like," I said, shuddering a little at the mental image.

"It is madness," the Qunari solder said dispassionately. "Mediations are abandoned, a parade is thrown, there is the imbibing of spirits and merry making... It can go on for days. Sometimes, it takes executions to end it."

Yeah, that sounded about par for the Qunari course. Have too much fun, you get executed.

Before I could respond, I spied Oghren speaking with Bann Teagan, both over large tankards, both a little rosy in the cheeks over their beards. Oh, Maker. Teagan was known to be the easier Guerrin to like, more amiable and easy-going, but surely he wouldn't think to get in a drinking contest with Oghren. I was certain there wasn't a human or elf, Warden, mage, or mundane, out there that could put that dwarf under the table. Ever since I had recruited him, I was pretty sure he'd been perpetually drinking. I hadn't even thought we'd been carrying that much alcohol. Neither had Alistair, which made me assume he had somehow been brewing his own on the road.

A pair of guards were approaching, dressed in full ceremonial armor and standing erect, both tall enough to tower over me.

"M'Lady," one said respectfully, dipping into a half bow. "The people are waiting out front. Are you ready to make an appearance?"

Oh, right. There were more people who hadn't been allowed inside that would want a glimpse of their savoir. Wonderful.

With a sigh and a rueful wave to Wynne and Sten, I nodded and followed the guards out into the blinding sunlight and deafening cheers. As I looked down on the packed streets, pasting on a smile while my guards paraded me around like a Mabari for sale, I realized that I should have been happier. My bitter wish that the Howes be further punished had been fulfilled without me lessening myself by voicing it aloud, and so many people had lived because of our successes this past year. I should have been downright giddy, not twisted up inside and forcing a smile.

When everything had gone so well... What was so wrong?

I took a deep breath as I entered Highever estate's stables. It was quiet, away from all the bustle after a Landsmeet, and smelled warmly of hay and horses. It was my peaceful little escape every time I managed to slip away from Mother's grasp while she tried to keep me in attendance, to smile at all the noble boys who would one day be trying to catch my eye. As if any guy who spent his time trying to kiss my boots would have a chance at earning my respect, much less my attention.

"A fact Mother just doesn't seem to understand, huh, boy?" I asked my father's big bay, reaching up to rub his velvety nose as it bobbed over my head. After all that, the bickering and politics of the Landsmeet, it was good to be alone.

Or, at least, I'd thought I was alone. I heard a sharp intake of breath from an open stall at the back of the stable and froze. Great. Caught sneaking off, and talking to a horse. My reputation was just getting better and better by the day around Denerim, wasn't it?

Quietly, I moved to the back, trying to move with at least some of the ladylike grace my mother had been trying to drill into my head. It turned out more of a cautious stalk, the silent sliding step of a thief in the dark.

"Who's there?" I called as I poked my head into the stall, surprised – and utterly embarrassed – to find Nathaniel Howe, sitting shirtless in the straw. Or, I was, until I noticed he was trying to tend a shallow, but still bleeding, knife wound in his side. Nathaniel was younger than my brother, older than me, but he'd always been friends with Fergus and Oswyn, of the friendly Dragon's Peak Bannorn. There weren't many nobles that my brother truly approved of to count as his trusted friends, so that alone spoke well of Nathaniel, and was more than good enough to merit my concern.

"Nathaniel?" I tried to keep the nervousness out of my voice as I slipped into the stall. The way my heart was hammering one would think I had a silly serving-girl crush on the older boy. "What happened?" Somehow, asking if he wanted help morphed into the new sentence on my tongue as I knelt beside him, gently but firmly pulling his hands back so I could look at the wound myself.

His hands were huge compared to mine, and I could feel the corded muscles in his forearms as I held them away. He could have shrugged me off easily, but instead, he watched me with a mixture of amusement and graceful gratitude.

"Vaughn," he replied in his quiet, raspy voice. "Caught him trying to," He seemed to catch what he'd been about to say, quickly editing it for my benefit. "Rough up one of the elven maids. The blighted moron's got his head so far up his arse he thinks being the Arl of Denerim's son gives him the right to do whatever he wants. Doesn't put up a copper to how it affects anyone else. Or how it makes him look."

"You mean like a complete jackass?" Nathaniel had been trying to be polite, because I was his friend's little sister. But my brother didn't spare his tongue around me, and Nathaniel didn't need to either.

He let out a surprised bark of laughter, trying to hide a flinch as it jostled the cut in his side by letting his neat, shoulder length black hair fall in front of his pale face. "Yeah, exactly like that. Well, long story short," I'd risen to grab a pack of bandages and salve from the tack room, but his next words gave me pause. "I pulled him back. Him and his two little thugs set on me."

I glanced back over my shoulder, looking at that one little cut in his side. "All three of them jumped you?" I asked quietly, eyebrows vanishing beneath my bangs.

Nathaniel grinned then, and it wasn't the least bit cocky or full of himself. More of a devilish kind of playful that sparked in his cool gray eyes as he leaned back against the pile of straw. "It took all three of them."

My stomach flipped and heat scorched over my cheeks. Alright. If I hadn't had a school-girl's crush on Arl Howe's son before, I had it now. "Damn," I muttered, before hurriedly running for the bandages, before I lost my nerve.

The rough, warm sound of Nathaniel's laughter followed me the whole way.


	3. The Prodigal Son

Chapter Three: The Prodigal Son

The dream – well, the dream of a memory, it really had happened – had been far too vivid for my taste. I rolled out of bed early the next morning to a sticky hot day of heavy cloud cover and went about packing my things for the short trip down to Ameranthine.

Considering I had spent the past year living out of a pack, I didn't have much, so preparations didn't take long. It hadn't even hit noon yet before I slipped into Zevran's room and sicced my Mabari, a dark brown beast named Icarus, on him to wake him up.

The elf sat up with an annoyed groan, an arm raised to fend off the hound's voracious licking. "Must you? Couldn't you simply slip into my bed yourself, my lovely Warden?" It was official, even his first coherent thought of the day could be a flirtation.

"Because that would be very unladylike. And this is so much more amusing." I grinned, leaning against the door frame.

"Ahh, but it would be such a lovely way to wake." Shoving Icarus down from his bed, he ran a hand through his hair and fixed me with sleep clouded eyes. "Are we leaving so early?"

"I am. So if you're still planning on coming with me, you should probably get up and get ready. I'm going to see if the escort Alistair sent for is here." Leaving him to dress, I turned and stalked off down the mostly empty halls, my hound falling into step behind me with a happy yip.

It took me a few tries to find a servant who knew something of use to me, but finally I found out that the escort was here. A Warden recruit, originally from the Denerim city guard, a young woman named Mhairi, who had already been sent to Vigil's Keep in Ameranthine when word had come that Orlesian Wardens were coming to help with the rebuilding of the order.

I knew from the instant I laid eyes on her that she and I were not going to get along.

She held her head high and proud, possessing respectable posture and a noble, even pretty face, but she also had a pinched look around her eyes and mouth that hinted that she was very upright and a stickler for decorum. Zevran and I were going to annoy her. Badly. Her heavy armor and the sword and shield she carried marked her as a warrior, and that the Wardens were going to try to recruit her spoke well of her competency with the weapons, so I was willing to try to work past our differences.

We had no sooner managed to get introduced – and I manage to convince her that I didn't want any bowing or titles thrown at me by a to-be fellow Warden, unless she wished to call me her Commander – then Zevran came down the stairs, a hand cupped over his mouth to hide a yawn, but fully armed and armored and ready to travel.

As the yawn began to fade and he laid clear amber eyes on Mhairi, a slow smile curved his lips, his hand falling to rest jauntily on the hilt of one of his daggers. "Why hello there," he purred, his gaze steadily working its way down from her face, although its not like her armor gave much for him to oggle. "I don't seem to remember you. And trust me, I would remember a lovely face like yours. This must be our escort?"

"Our escort?" The dread in Mhairi's voice was all too clear, as was the flush on her pale cheeks under her Warden helm, and that made Zevran's devilish grin even broader.

"Yes. I'm sorry, I forgot to inform you that I have selected a personal bodyguard to accompany me to Ameranthine." I fought to keep back my own smile. "This is Zevran Arainai."

"Charmed, my Lady," Zevran greeted her with a ghost of a bow. "Should you need anything of me in our time together, please, do not hesitate to ask." There was no mistaking the tone of his voice, and Mahri flushed darker and turned on her heel, stiffly walking out of the palace foyer, effectively ending her conversation with him and, very unsubtly, suggesting that it was time to move on.

Oh, yes, this was going to be a fun trip.

A few innuendo-filled hours later, we were on the road that stretched from the actual city of Ameranthine to the lord's seat of Vigil's Keep. Thank the Maker for small favors.

The heavy gray clouds had given way to a steady rain, the fat drops plastering mine and Zevran's hair to our skulls and dripping from the beak-like point of Mhairi's helm. Unfortunately for poor Mhairi, the Maker's version of a cold bath only gave Zev more inappropriate jokes to make.

That is, until we were within sight of the Keep's courtyard. The scent of burning flesh, sulfur, blood, and ash carried on the damp night air and cries of men pierced the night. I felt the telltale tug in the center of my chest and heard the demonic whispers in my head.

"Darkspawn," I hissed. "They're crawling all over this place."

That might not have sobered Zevran, but it did make him instantly alert, hands moving to his own daggers as I unsheathed mine. "You're certain, Tessa?" he asked quietly, moving to stand at my side. "The Blight has ended, has it not?"

"It did, but Alistair mentioned something... Before coronation about there still being darkspawn groups about. People have been fretting that not all of them are returning to the Deep Roads as they should. And it looks like they might have staged a coup on the Keep."

Mhairi looked perturbed. "But that shouldn't be possible, should it, Commander? Without an Archdemon, darkspawn are supposed to be disorganized."

"Maybe something new is leading them," I replied. "The real question is, how did they sneak up on the Orlesian Wardens to make such a mess of this place? But now's not the time to ponder that. We have survivors to assist." I hope.

We had barely taken a few running steps before I was proven right. A man came barreling out of the front gates of the Keep, three genlocks on his heels. He was unarmed and dressed in a simple peasant's tunic and breeches, so I had to guess he was no soldier. More than likely a servant. And that gave me a little hope that, if a servant was alive, then others could be too.

Zevran took the first genlock, darting in with a speed I had almost forgotten he possessed, scissoring his daggers at its neck and sending its head flying into the face of one of its comrades, distracting it so that Mhairi could bash it with her shield, slamming it to the ground and skewering it with her sword.

I tackled the last as Mhairi's squirmed in the dirt, black acidic blood gushing and pooling beneath it. I shoved the farmer out of the way, putting myself almost right in front of the last genlock, hurling my first dagger into the center of its chest before darting around and plunging another into the back of its head, angled up into its brain. Its strangled death rattle was the last thing its pinned companion heard before it went still and Mhairi yanked her blade free.

Icarus stood guard over the farmer, his ears pinned back and thick muscles tense under his dark fur. Bending to retrieve my blades, I felt the tug in my chest, the taint's built-in warning, pulling me toward the Keep. We needed to hurry if we wanted to save anyone.

"Are you alright?" I asked the man, who shakily nodded and got to his feet.

"T-they just came pourin' over the east wall!" His eyes were wide and he staggered a couple more steps away from the Keep, as though that would make all the difference. "Dozens of 'em! Took everyone by surprise, they did! Killed some outright, dragged others off, screamin'... W-wait, you, your..." The man narrowed his beady eyes and peered at my rain streaked face. "You're the Hero of Ferelden, aren't you! Oh, thank the Maker! You've got to help, please!"

"I planned on it." Blades back in hand, I pointed down the road to the highway. "Go to the road, find help. There's got to be some sort of patrol out there." We were too close to the city for the road to be left empty. Hopefully, some kind of reinforcements would come.

Until then, as usual, we were on our own.

The courtyard hadn't quite been overrun yet. Genlocks and a couple of ogres were tormenting a handful of remaining soldiers, but the fact that the men had remained to fight was an excellent sign. Rendon Howe might have been a rat, but he had chosen his men well. A makeshift infirmary had been set up on the battlements, and once the yard was clear, the soldiers in charge began seeing to the injured. If they recognized me, then they harbored no ill feelings about what I had done to their previous lord, or were grateful enough for the rescue that they were willing to overlook it.

With the men – my men – safe and the courtyard secure, for the time being, Mhairi led the way into the Keep. Though I'd been here a few times, visiting the Howes with my father and Fergus, I thought it best if I let Mhairi be the expert on the layout of the building for now. No need to raise unnecessary curiosities, seeing as I hadn't broadcasted that I was so familiar with the Howes.

When the last shriek in the main hall fell, Mhairi stood frozen, staring at the floor.

"How could they all have been caught unawares?" she asked herself, her tone strained with anguish. "A dozen Grey Wardens, ambushed and overwhelmed..."

"Don't you dare go saying we don't stand a chance," I said testily, moving for the nearest staircase. "Pull yourself together, recruit, we have work to do." Mhairi didn't look like she appreciated the admonishment, but she didn't have the gall to speak out against her Commander. I shrugged inwardly, moving forward with Zev at my side and the morose recruit on my heels. I didn't care what she thought of me. I cared that we lived through this and found our survivors.

The Wardens should have mounted a better defense than this. Mhairi couldn't have left to answer Alistair's call to retrieve me all that long ago. How did the Keep fall so quickly?

Opening the next door, I was greeted with a blast of heat and a blinding column of flame, the man casting it silhouetted in shadow as the darkspawn caught in the path of the fire fell, badly burned with skin sloughing off their twisted, tainted bodies.

All in the center of a small circle of dead templars.

Once all the darkspawn had fallen, the mage killed his spell and turned toward us, shaking out his hands, as though brushing off the after effects of the fire blast. In the even light of the room, I could see him plainly now, tall and lean, wearing Tevinter robes with feathered pauldrons, skin more tanned than most mages, from being outdoors, I supposed, stubble darkening his jawline and blond hair pulled back in a short ponytail, a few strands escaping to fall around his temples. A gold hoop earring dangled from one ear, and at the sight of me, Zevran, and Mhairi, his clever brown eyes widened innocently, casting a glance around at the templar's bodies.

"Uhh... I didn't do it," he said, turning back to us with a hapless shrug.

I grinned slightly. "Sure, alright, you just got lucky, did you? Who are you anyway, and what are you doing here? You're no Warden." I couldn't sense the taint in him. And I certainly couldn't think of any reasons for a mage and a bunch of templars to be here.

"Ah, that's right! Where are my manners?" He broke into a cheeky smile as he gave a little bow. "Anders, at your service. Harrowed mage and, unfortunately, also a wanted apostate."

"An apostate!" Mhairi sounded as though this were the worst kind of criminal, her voice breathless and wary. "What's an apostate doing here in the Keep?"

"Funny story, that," Anders supplied readily. "See, I'd just been recovered after my seventh escape attempt..."

"How many?" I asked, a little incredulous. This man was still alive? From what I'd seen at the Circle – granted, it hadn't been the best time to visit the Circle, but still – after so many escapes, I would have thought they would have executed the mage outright by now.

"You heard me right. Seven escape attempts. Pity how they always find me, these guys'd still have a few more mage-terrorizing years left in them if they hadn't insisted we stop over here on our way back to the tower." Anders nudged one of the dead templar's breastplate with the toe of his boot. "'Just a quick stop over, just a night', they said, and now they're dead."

Yes, it certainly was the misfortune of these templars that they'd decided to make Vigil's Keep their refuge on the night darkspawn chose to sack it.

"You sound oh-so broken up about their demise," I noted, merely teasing. My father and I had always shared the same opinion of the Circle: they were too harsh with their mages, templars got away with things they really shouldn't, and more often than not the men and women were barely treated as human, torn from their families, denied their homes and titles and forced to live cooped up forever. It wasn't right.

"Oh, I know." Anders' tone was one of false sympathy. "Most people so enjoy getting a kick in the head to wake them up each morning. Me, I'm just so picky." He waved a hand dismissively, residual magic crackling ominously around him. "Anyway, this isn't really the time or place to be discussing this, is it? There are darkspawn running about, terrorizing the place. Hurting people." Earnest brown eyes met my gaze and a little grin quirked the mage's lips. "I'd like to help you stop them. I'm no Warden, but that didn't seem to stop me from killing these fellows, did it?"

Hey, alright! And to think, this time my mage friend was even pleasant. As much as I'd come to respect Morrigan, it had been near impossible to actually like her. Anders' sense of humor would be welcome.

"Welcome to the club, ser," Zevran gave Anders an appraising grin. "Perhaps after this threat has been cut short, we could see what else you can do with those hands, no?"

I groaned quietly and cut off any reply the amused mage could make. Great. Zevran liked him too. No surprise, Zevran could find a way to show interest in anything that breathed. "Alright, alright! You can come, but trust me, once Zev gets on a roll, there's no stopping him. Lets get the Keep secure, then you two can chat your silly little hearts out. We don't have time for it right now."

"Ahh, my dear Warden, I had almost forgotten how everything is a life or death struggle around you." Golden eyes sparked with excitement as the mage fell into step behind us. "It is good for these old bones to be back in action. Too much longer in that guarded palace and I would have gotten rusty."

"Rusty with the Crows still on your heels isn't a good thing to be, my friend," I informed him as we pressed deeper into the Keep, felling darkspawn with whirlwind blades and columns of fire and bursts of lightning. With all the blood flying, Mhairi and Anders would be lucky to get away from this mess without the corruption spreading into them. "Or when your best friend is the Commander of the Grey and has darkspawn constantly throwing themselves at her," I added later as an afterthought.

Zevran looked over his shoulder at me with a wicked grin. "Indeed, my Warden. We are bosom buddies. In fact, when this siege is broken, may I lay my head on your bosom? It seems like a wonderful place to take a nap. Such a splendid view."

I sighed heavily. "You'll never give up, will you?" It wasn't really a question. I'd known the answer without the mischievous wink he slipped me.

"You two close, Commander?" Somehow, the tone Anders put on the word was curious, dubious, and amused all at once. Oh, yes, he and Zevran were going to make quite the pair if my dear Antivan stuck around.

"You could say that. He was one of the ones who helped me end the Blight. Trying to bed me, and everyone we come across, just happens to be his favorite hobby."

"One that, sadly, I have not achieved just yet." Zevran sighed melodramatically, hiking his shoulders in an emphasized shrug. "However, persistence is key. I will charm you one day, my saucy little minx."

I remembered a comment he had said once. A flippant assessment of his character that had been attached to a much deeper, darker story of lost love and betrayal. "You used to be more cocky and arrogant?" "Haha, yes, I suppose I was. In fact, I was often called insufferable. Right before I ended up in bed with someone."

"Zev, you are absolutely insufferable."

The elf froze with his hand on the doorknob of the next room, shooting a lecherous grin over his shoulder at me. I knew he loved that I played along with his game. "See? This is a good sign."

Dozens of dead darkspawn and a handful of rescued servants later, we had reached the top of the Keep. The last breath of Mhairi's fellow recruit, Roland, had been a warning – the seneschal was being held captive on the Keep's battlements. By a talking darkspawn.

Talking darkspawn? The idea made me uneasy. Surely the man had been delirious, succumbing to the taint that had infected him.

Mhairi's face was a harsh mask of grief as we slipped onto the battlements into the dark and cold sting of the rain. Anders had been unable to heal her friend. I didn't blame him, but I knew that the taint wasn't a disease that could be cured. It was a darkness as real as the hand of a thief, snaking into the blood and twisting and grasping for more until the infected one either died or changed into something no longer human. Into a tainted ghoul, a soulless parody of the former self. No one was immune. Those with the hardiness to become a Grey Warden through the Joining only lasted a little longer.

I still had twenty-eight years to my name. Give or take.

No, I didn't think Anders failed. But Mhairi certainly did. It was clear from her cold and mutinous expression that she was a believer that magic should be able to do anything. Apparently the Orlesian Wardens hadn't given her any more a warning on what was to come than Duncan had given me.

I didn't think she had it in her to survive the Joining. A horrible thing to think, but I just sensed in my heart that she, despite her dedication, didn't have what it took to become a Warden.

I wondered if, once things were settled and it was time to hold a Joining, if there would be any point in trying to tell her that.

Further down the rooftop there were four figures. A heavily armored human, on his knees at the hands of two hurlocks, one with a blade pressed to his throat. Another darkspawn, more... Human in appearance than any other I'd seen, stood at the edge of the rampart, hands folded behind his back. Zevran glanced at me and shifted sideways, into the shadows cast by the spire on the inner edge, all but the amber gleam of his eyes muted to gray as he slunk forward in a crouch, blades at the ready.

Our expert assassin was in his element and ready to go now. The rest of us would provide the distraction.

As we moved forward, I could make out a strained, hoarse croak of a voice coming from the strange darkspawn at the rampart. It was the voice of someone just recovering from a nasty illness, or the rasp of a dying man.

"Be taking this one gently. The Architect is not wanting any more death than is necessary."

Was he giving orders to the hurlocks... Not to hurt the man whom I assumed was the seneschal? And who was the Architect? Andraste's flaming sword, I didn't need this!

"It is talking!" Anders exclaimed in a voice that was pure derision and sarcasm. Maker, this was turning into one headache of a night.

The darkspawn turned to look at us, the seneschal's eyes wide and bright in the moonlight, iron gray hair plastered to his head from exposure to the rain.

"It looks as if you were right, human," the head darkspawn said haltingly. "Rescue seems to have arrived."

"Commander!"

I ignored the man, swinging my blades in lazy arcs as I took in the new, talking creature. "That's me, alright. In every new disaster, here I come to save the day." Zevran leapt out of the shadows and took out the two hurlocks holding the – my – seneschal hostage. "And it seems its time to add one more to the body count."

Whatever it was, this darkspawn was a little tougher to take down than most. No matter how many wounds Zev and I opened up, even to vitals, the thing staggered and kept coming. No matter how many times Mhairi bashed it to the ground, it got up and charged again. If anything, I think it was a bolt of lightning from Anders' staff that finally brought it to its knees, smoking and reeking of tainted blood and flash-fried flesh.

"I always knew you mages were more useful out of the tower than in," I complimented him with a relieved sigh, pressing the heel of my hand into the armor that shielded my heart. The tugging, the call of the taint, was gone.

"Was that the last of them, my lovely Tessa?" Zevran asked casually, taking a seat on the waist-high stone wall that encased the rampart, arms folded across his chest. He knew the look on my face by now, the revelation of happiness and exhaustion that only release from the pull of the taint brought.

"Yeah, that was all of them. The Keep's clear, now." I grimaced. "Both of darkspawn, and Wardens. Aside from me."

"All of the Orlesian Wardens have fallen?" the seneschal asked as he gained his feet, then seemed to realize we hadn't been introduced. "You're the new Warden-Commander, Tessa Cousland? I am seneschal Varel. I was appointed to have control of Vigil's Keep by the Crown until you're arrival, Commander." He bowed slightly at the waist, then cast an eye over the edge of the wall. "We have... Much to discuss, and even more to do, in the aftermath of this disaster, but right now..." Light eyes squinted as he gazed out over the land. "It seems there is a patrol approaching the main gate. Perhaps reinforcements. We should go give them a proper greeting, yes?" Varel's grim smile added what his words implied: And let them know we're still alive.

I had expected a patrol of soldiers, maybe guards from Ameranthine. What I got was entirely different, as usual.

By the time we made it down to the gates, King Alistair stood there, surveying the damage with wide brown eyes and crossed arms, surrounded by an accompaniment of templars. Why templars, rather than his usual guard? I have no idea, but as I felt Anders tense at my side, I knew he was having the same thoughts I was. This was not his day.

"I'd come to see how you were liking your new place," Alistair greeted me casually as Mhairi's jaw fairly dropped and she fell to one knee. "This... This was the last thing I expected to find. I sensed them down the road a bit, but I suppose we didn't get here in time to join the fun." He gave me a half grin. "How does the Keep fare, Commander?"

"Some soldiers and servants live. It seems the darkspawn didn't show much interest in them, only the ones that got in their way. The Wardens, however, are all gone. From what I gather, either dead, or missing." I replied. The templars didn't look too happy with how comfortably I addressed my king. Ah, well. That wasn't my problem.

"Missing?" Alistair asked, sounding startled. "As in... Taken by the darkspawn?" He looked around, like someone here would know more about the darkspawn than he or I did. "Do they even do that?"

"It would seem so, your Majesty," Varel said gravely. "The Keep isn't too badly damaged. We should be able to handle repairs on our own... What we really need to get started on is recruitment." Those serious yet kind eyes turned to me. "You will need more Wardens at your side to combat these darkspawn, should they attempt this again, and to rout the groups that haunt the outskirts of the arling."

It was then one of the templars, a woman I recognized as the Knight-Commander of the Denerim templars, Rylock, seemed to realize who Anders was.

"Your Majesty!" she gasped as she stepped forward, one hand falling to the hilt of her blade. Which, of course, instantly brought my hands to the handles of my daggers. "This man is dangerous, a wanted fugitive! He must be arrested and brought in to face justice!"

"Hah," Anders scoffed. "The things you know about justice would fit into a thimble. Fine, bring me in. I'll just escape again, anyhow."

"Never!" Rylock snarled. "I'll see you hanged for what you've done here, murderer!" Ah, it seems the templars had searched the lower reaches of the Keep, and come to their own conclusions.

"Murderer!" Anders' brown eyes flashed indignantly. "I didn't..." He trailed off and sighed, shaking his head in resignation and disgust. "Urgh. What's the use? You won't believe me anyhow."

True, the templars wouldn't believe an apostate mage. I, however...

"There's... Little I can do here," Alistair said helplessly, looking to me. "The Chantry law is separate from mine. They have their rights to police their mages. Unless... You have something to add, Commander?" I could hear the suggestion in his voice. Right with you, Alistair.

I hadn't known Anders for long, but I did believe he was a good man. I'd spent the past couple of hours emptying the Keep to his jokes, which ranged from the kind of corny that borderlined on desperate humor to actual, funny one-liners. Maybe to some that would seem inappropriate, but I saw it for what it was. An attempt to keep up spirits in a house of blood, death, and corruption. An attempt to distract from the unsettling confusion of a darkspawn sneak-attack outside of a Blight. He'd proven a gentle and skilled healer, who spared little thought for himself in the heat of battle, and he had been the first to calm and direct survivors out of the Keep to safety. And even now he did not beg, did not run; he stood firm, even in the face of an unproven accusation and certain recapture and immanent death.

The same as with Zevran, when he had laid at my feet and offered his oath of loyalty in exchange for his life, I knew this was not a man that deserved to be sent to his execution.

"As a matter of fact," A smug, wicked grin not so different from one of Zev's turned my lips as I crossed my arms at my chest. "I do have something to add." I jerked my head at Anders. "I hereby conscript this mage into the Grey Wardens. I'm taking him as a recruit."

Anders jumped in surprise and gave me a look that was equal parts gratitude and disbelief. I suppose he'd fully expected us to allow the templars to do their duty and drag him off to the tower to face punishment. After all, most mundanes felt mages were dangerous and relied on the Circle and the templars.

I'd traveled with Morrigan. I could certainly handle Anders.

"What?" Rylock sounded like she might have a stroke. She was not happy. She glared at my blank, you heard me, look, then whirled on Alistair. "My liege, you cannot allow this! Chantry law states that all runaway mages, blood mages...!"

Alistair cut her off calmly and diplomatically, one hand raised, palm out and flat in a peaceful gesture. "If I recall, the Wardens still retain their Right of Conscription, which, in many cases, supersedes the law of the Crown and the law of the Chantry. I see no reason to override the Commander's invoking of it, and I do see a need for Wardens in the immediate future. I am going to allow it."

Rylock's mouth opened and closed, floundering like a fish out of water for a moment before her cheeks flushed a bright red and she turned and stalked off, posture as stiff as if I'd given her a good lashing, muttering something about being 'soft on the robes'.

Sometimes it was nice to see those used to being bowed and scraped to be reminded of their real place. People really ought to know by now that I was not an easy person to boss around. Usually I went with the fair-minded, laid-back nature my family had always been known for, but when push came to shove, I had no inclination to allow myself to be the one pushed around.

"So," Alistair said jovially, turning from watching Rylock's strategic retreat to look back to me and my new little crew. "Now that that's dealt with, you've got things under control here, right?"

I grinned a little, leaning forward to knock my elbow on the thick golden plate of Alistair's armor. "What, old friend, not staying to fight darkspawn with us like old times?"

"Believe it or not, Tessa, I'd love to. After seeing what the nobles are like, I'd throw myself back into fighting darkspawn any day, but Eamon would kill me." He grimaced. "I have to get back to Denerim. If I don't hurry, they might find me a wife in my absence, and not only am I not ready for that, I would like to be the one to decide whom I wish to marry."

Zevran clapped his hands and his eyes lit up. Mhairi jumped, looking at us both like we were crazy for treating the King of Ferelden in such a manner. "Gasp! Alistair is considering skirt chasing? In finally joining with a woman! Hah! This I must see!"

Alistair blushed a furious shade of pink and turned his back on the elf. "It's nothing like that!" His voice softened from the indignant, embarrassed tone as he glanced back at me. "Good luck, Warden-Commander."

As Alistair and his guard returned to their horses, left beyond the gate, and mounted up, I turned to look over my Keep. Smoke and the scent of blood still lingered in the rain-chilled night air, but the damage didn't appear to be too bad – then again, what did I know about construction? I'd simply seen much of it going on in Denerim. It was the loss of life that I thought was the most devastating.

The Orlesian Wardens. The darkspawn should not have been able to ambush them. And now they would need to be replaced.

"Varel," I looked to the seneschal with a sigh. "Can you take these three inside? Anders and Mhairi will undergo the Joining, if they still wish to once I've had the chance to speak with them."

"What? No offer extended to me, my Warden? You wound," Zevran placed a hand mockingly over his heart, fixing a hurt expression on his face. It was more of the game, this I knew. Zevran was aware the price of becoming a Warden. I had told him, in a moment of weakness. And I knew he had no interest in having to pay that price.

It bothered him enough to know that I was simply biding my own time until the Calling came.

"You'd never make it, Zev," I replied breezily, going along with it, as I often did. "I have a sixth sense about these things. The taint is not something meant for you, my friend. Alas, it is a great loss that you cannot officially join our ranks. We are the lesser for it. Now get inside, out of the rain, before I'm forced to kick your Antivan ass there myself."

Zevran flashed me a quick smile before he bobbed his head and turned to follow the others back through the drizzle to the Keep and the dry throne room. I took another long, deep breath of open air, letting the crispness of the night fill my lungs. I wanted some time alone. Maybe the quiet and dark would quell the headache throbbing deep in my skull.

I walked more slowly through the rain, moving like a shadow between buildings to check for more darkspawn, even though common sense told me I would sense them. Broken bodies lay here and there on the cobblestone, faces frozen forever in unseeing masks of horror or determination, depending on the inner fortitude of the particular soldier. The rain was falling just hard enough to make the black blood on my armor run, not enough to sluice it away.

And not enough to cover the voice drifting up from the entrance to the Keep's dungeon.

"You're a damn lucky Blighter, you know that? Trapped here, safe in your cell while so many others were slaughtered topside," this voice was youthful. Angry. "Took four o' them Wardens to capture you, it did. You shoulda been up there fightin' them darkspawns."

We had a prisoner that had rivaled four Grey Wardens? And no one had given this man equipment and sent him to join the fight? By the Void! What were they thinking?

I swung open the door to the dungeons and decended the stairs silently, an eyebrow quirked as I saw the man at the desk. I had to wonder, had he left his safe post to fight?

"So, what's this I hear about a prisoner?" The guard's back had been turned to me, since he'd been facing the cells so he could antagonize his charge, and my innocently curious tone made him jump. "What's he been incarcerated for?"

"C-Commander!" The man jumped to his feet right away, all nerves and embarrassment. "He was taken in for sneeakin' 'round the Keep, ma'am. We were thinkin' he's a thief, he is. Took a bunch of them Orlesians to capture 'im, an' he still gave one a black eye!"

Interesting. I ignored the guard's stumbling to get in my good graces, tilting my head to try and peer around the corner. "I want to speak with this prisoner. Leave me."

"O' course, ma'am!" The guard hurried off up the stairs. "I'll get the seneschal. They were leavin' it to you to decide what to do with 'im!"

The seneschal hadn't simply decided the would-be thief's fate himself? Thank the Maker. It sounded like this man would be useful, in arming the Keep if not rebuilding the Wardens.

I'd been expecting pretty much anything when I stepped around the corner. An elf, a human. Surface dwarves weren't too common as thieves, but it was possible. A man from the city, just trying to get by, looting what he thought was an abandoned keep. A scruffy, hardened criminal looking for a challenge. I was ready for it all. Or so I thought.

That the thief would be Nathaniel Howe never crossed my mind, but I knew that face the moment I laid eyes on him, sitting at the back of the cell, back to the wall, one leg stretched out in front of him, the other pulled to his chest, arm draped across it. I had never seen him in such ragged, threadbare clothes before, but it shouldn't be surprising, after years as a squire in the Free Marches and then a return home to a trashed and disinherited family name.

The face was the same, pale and all sharp, clean lines. A noble, if sly, face. Long black hair, tangled from the arrest but still shoulder length, a piece from each side looped around the back of his head in a braid, much the same style as Zevran's. A small soul patch at the dip of his chin. Sharp, pale gray eyes peering from beneath long, thick black lashes. The body had changed, still naturally lean, showing for the born archer and quicksilver knife fighter he was, but taller, now, easily head and shoulders taller than me, and even through the shabby clothes I could see the cords of muscle that had built over his frame from his near decade of training.

Apparently, time or memories hadn't kept me so true.

Nathaniel rose slowly, with the hesitant grace of a hunting cat, his eyes searching my face without a single flicker of recognition. No, no recognition, but plenty of cold fury.

"So, this is the mighty hero?" The voice was the same too, a gruff, yet oddly warm rasp, the scrape of tree branches on a summer night. "Aren't you supposed to be ten feet tall, with lightning bolts shooting out of your eyes?"

Emotions warred for control under the controlled surface of my face. As usual, my head and heart were at odds. The warm emotions, tenderness and affection, the beginnings of a shy girl's crush, still lingered where the dream I'd had last night had brought them to the surface. But so did suspicion and anger. Had he known his father's plans? Grief was there too. And, to my surprise, I had to notice it wasn't just for the loss of most of my family. It was for both of us, as we had both lost so much in just a little over a year.

I had to wonder, who'd lost more?

On a whim, I decided to let his lapse of memory slide. Lets see how he acted when he didn't know I was his one-time friend, and just thought I was the slayer of archdemons and traitors.

"That probably is what the darkspawn think, yes," I conceded with a brittle smile. "I'm glad to hear how my reputation proceeds me."

Nathaniel wasn't impressed by the casual bravado. Go figure. The man had never been the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. It pissed me off that I had to fight to keep a calm even half as true as his looked.. He snorted derisively, pale eyes sweeping over me in a quick once-over, lingering on my daggers. That was Nathaniel too, never one to notice the "female" part of "female warrior" first. He was all business.

"Are you here to sentence me, then? Go on." He shrugged, turning his head away as though I weren't even worth his attention anymore. "I am Nathaniel Howe, rightful owner of these lands. Or at least I was."

The ice in his voice was so thick I could feel it prickling up my spine. I just barely kept my traitorous heart from revealing who I was too soon. "What were you doing when you were caught sneaking around the Keep, Nathaniel?" I asked instead, forcing a disinterested, lazy tone, crossing my arms and leaning against the wall across from his cell.

"What was I doing?" Cold gray eyes met my dark green ones. "I came here..." He hesitated, voice breaking as well as the piercing stare, looking uneasy and... Lost. The kind of lost I'd seen in a mirror every single day after I'd fled Highever, certain I'd been the sole survivor. It was enough to make me want to go to him and lay my hands over his on the bars. Something. I wished that hollow feeling on no one. "I thought I was going to kill you," he admitted finally, pale, combat roughened fingers tightening around the iron of the cell bars. "But then I realized, all I wanted was to take back some of the things my family may have left here, and leave this place for good." He closed his eyes, gave the softest of sighs, as though hoping I wouldn't hear.

"Apparently the guards here take thievery very seriously," I said with mock gravity, tilting my head in consideration of the man before me. Had Nathaniel remained the honorable young man I knew? Was he clean of his father's betrayal? I hoped so. "You had a mind to kill me, when so many others, including the Antivan Crows, have failed?"

A smile devoid of any humor turned his lips. "My time abroad was not spent chasing skirts. I have some skills of my own."

I was about to say something in return, to inquire what those skills might be, when I was interrupted.

"Ah, Commander, I see you've spoken to the prisoner. Have you decided what to do with him, Lady Cousland?" Varel asked politely.

And there went my cover. Nathaniel's face went even paler, his features seeming more stark in his shock, staring at me again.

"Lady Cousland?" he asked cautiously, his tone going from disbelieving and tentative to harsh and demanding. "Tessa? Y-you survived?" At my solemn nod, momentary relief was transported to outrage and fury. "You killed my father!"

Two could play at this game. "Your father killed my family!" I snapped back, arms tightening around my waist to resist the temptation to seize the bars and shake them. I could feel the toxic rage pumping through my veins, white hot and poisonous. That was the part of me that screamed for Nathaniel's execution.

The part that wanted me to do things the rest of me knew I would regret.

"Your family was selling Ferelden out to the Orlesians!"

Or not. "Are you insane? There is not a man left in Ferelden that is as loyal as my father was! He loved Cailan like family, and always served this country true!" Before I could stop it, my tongue snapped out a shot below the belt. "And he always treated you, Tomas, and Delilah like his own children! How could you possibly believe we would betray our king and country?"

I could see the muscle in Nathaniel's jaw clench. Logic. And he saw it. Good. And, at the moment, I hoped it hurt like hell to have it thrown in his face. I couldn't tell. For a moment, he just stared at me, tense as the tripwire of a trap. His gaze held mine and, in that moment that seemed outside time, it was like he didn't even see me. Just the tears I felt prickling at my eyes.

When he spoke, it was defiant, but he no longer sounded angry. Each word was carefully enunciated in a deliberate, clipped tone, and he held my gaze. "What are you going to do with me, then?"

I felt my own anger deflate a little, then. I felt my body seem to shrink and settle along with it, lying dormant until the time I could have my blades in hand and darkspawn blood flying again. "What would you do if I just let you go?" I asked tiredly, and Varel looked at me with the expression one might give a woman running about the city in her smallclothes.

Nathaniel gave me a similar look, but considered his response with the thoughtful gravity he gave everything. "Well. I don't know. It isn't as if I have other things to do. If you let me go... I might return. And your guards might not catch me this time."

I laughed as bitter humor tickled at my chest. "You're not making the best case for yourself, Nathaniel."

"You'd rather I lie?"

I smiled and ran a hand over my hair, threading my fingers into the tight cap the braids made it. Maybe I was loosing my mind, but I had made my decision.

"Varel. I invoke the Right of Conscription."

Now both men started visibly, gaping, open-mouthed. "On the prisoner, Commander? You wish to make him a Warden?"

"No!" Nathaniel exclaimed when he found his voice. "I'd rather die! Hang me first!"

"You'd rather death than a chance at redeeming your family name?" I asked him. Dirty. Very dirty, but I did want him to have that chance. That Nathaniel had done the foolish thing, been honest with me when it would have been in his best interests by far to lie, proved to me that he may well be the Nathaniel I'd known all my life. A man more honorable than any other in his family by far, and completely undeserving of the dishonor that now stained him.

And if he was that Nathaniel, I could believe that he would never have had a part in my family's murder. If he had known, he would have said something, or tried to stop it. I could believe that. I had to.

He shook his head, running a hand through his dark hair. "I don't know if this is punishment or a vote of confidence," he murmured, seemingly to himself, before addressing me clearly. "You like having Wardens that have wanted you dead?"

I laughed again, this one much brighter as the image of a certain elf came to mind. "Oh, don't worry about me. Some of my best friends have wanted me dead."


	4. Join Up and Head Out

Chapter Four: Join Up and Head Out

Varel didn't like it, but I let Nathaniel go without any restraints. It seemed wrong to parade him through his old home like that. If he was under some illusion he could take me with his bare hands, well, then he was welcome to try. I would be happy to put him in his place and get on with my life.

I had to hand it to him, he walked along in front of me with his head held high, damn near marching through the light rain to the Keep. These had been destined to be his lands, and he was exuding that quiet confidence and dignity.

And they should have been his lands. So why are you here?

I shut up the internal voice and followed in Nathaniel's wake, trying to mimic his posture. It wasn't easy. I'd spent a lot more time hauling heavy packs of supplies over rugged terrain, sneaking around the Deep Roads and other monster dens, and being a dancing mechanism of blades and death with the future of the world on her shoulders lately to worry about looking like nobility.

I tried anyway. Maker damn me to the Void if he was gonna show me up.

Nathaniel and I entered side-by-side, not saying a word to one another, and both strutting a little. Anders looked between us with a slowly raising eyebrow as we approached, but Zevran was sizing up Nathaniel with narrowed eyes. He recognized how the man moved. He was gauging whether or not he was a threat. He apparently decided that, as he was unarmed, he wasn't for now, because his gaze lightened.

"One more to add to the party? And who is this taciturn young fellow? Rather reminds me of Loghain with that stare of his."

Now that was pretty priceless. "This," I extended an arm toward Nathaniel and waved it up and down to indicate all of him. "Is Nathaniel Howe. Arl Rendon Howe's eldest son. He's been squired away in the Free Marches for almost a decade. I've decided that he didn't have anything to do with his father's actions, and he's possibly joining the Wardens too."

Zevran was considering Nathaniel in new light when I turned to face the group. It was odd how much it reminded me of my own Joining. Three recruits, two men, one woman. I could practically feel Daveth and Jory flanking me. I hadn't liked Jory much, but he'd been a good man, and he'd left behind a widow and son. If he had been willing to try, he probably would have passed the Joining, I thought, but he had balked, drawn his blade, and forced Duncan to kill him. Daveth had been a scruffy man, but funny, true of heart, and possessing of an iron will to do what our cause called for. He'd had an attitude that said not stepping forward for the Wardens would have put him in a roadside ditch already, and doing nothing now would only lead to the same. He'd been willing to face the darkspawn if it meant ending the Blight. He hadn't passed the Joining, and I was pretty sure I was the only one he left behind that genuinely missed him.

Surprising how a death-row cutpurse from the capital could be as deeply mourned as a noble knight with a family.

But, standing here amid the ghosts of my past, I couldn't do to these three what Duncan had done to me. Grey Warden rules of secrecy be damned, I wasn't going to trick these people into my service.

"The three of you stand here as potential recruits," I began slowly, looking from Mhairi, to Anders, to Nathaniel. "I would be happy to accept each of you into the Wardens, but before we attempt the Joining, there are some things I must tell you. I'm not supposed to. I'm doing this... Well. Because I guess I either like or have too much respect for you." I sighed. "Being a Warden is not a process that can ever be undone. You can leave the order, but you will always be a Warden. Darkspawn will find you, or you will inadvertantly seek them out. Darkspawn will sometimes haunt your dreams, whispering. They talk, and we can feel them. And they can feel us." I checked their expressions. Mhairi was stone-faced, so was Nathaniel. Anders looked... Almost bored. Zevran had heard it all before and was scuffing his boot against the floor.

"Also," I continued grimly. "After the Joining, it becomes very difficult for a Warden to have children. It's apparently not unheard of, but it is rare. And, last but probably chief among all the fun things about being a Warden..." I exhaled harshly. "We become Wardens by taking in the taint. If your body can't master it, then you die instantly. If it does... It's still a death sentence. It is like a slow working poison in your blood. Apparently the time frame varies from person to person, but the estimate I was given was thirty years."

Anders' expression had been a little tight, up until the number, but then he relaxed. "And you think I'm going to turn and leave now?" he asked with a wicked grin. "Commander, I probably would have been dead before Denerim if you hadn't stepped in for me. Thirty years? I'd say that's drastically more than I had. And I owe you for standing up to the templars. I'm not going anywhere." He crossed his arms, leaning on the wall in an obstinate pose that said his mind was made up.

Nathaniel shrugged. "What else do I really have to lose?"

"I've made my choice," Mhairi said softly, not once dropping her gaze. "I shall accept this challenge and face my fate without regret. Thank you, Commander."

Well, that was that, then. I'd done my duty, and they were all deciding to walk into this with their eyes wide open. Here's hoping that was still a comfort to me when this night was through. I looked to Varel, giving him a short nod. He stepped forward, the bone white Joining chalice clasped in armored hands. I supposed he had retrieved it while I was giving my speech.

"There are only a few words spoken before the Joining," he rasped. "But they have been said since the first of the Gray Wardens." The seneschal cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, speaking steadily and solemnly over the silence of the room, capturing the attention of my recruit's curious stares.

"Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us, as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that, one day, we shall join you."

I didn't hear Varel's scratchy voice as he spoke the familiar words, the herald to transformation. No, my mind refused to hear the foreign sound, and instead heard the words spoken in the reverent chant of Alistair. The ghosts of the past circled me in my mind's eye. I could feel the biting chill of that night in Ostagar, as I glanced from face to face, from Anders, to Mhairi, and, finally, Nathaniel.

And as I looked, I wondered what kind of hand the Maker would deal this time.

"Anders," Varel's voice had returned as he stepped toward the young mage. "From this moment on, you are a Grey Warden."

"This is it?" the blond asked dubiously. "We just... Drink darkspawn blood? That's it?" He accepted the chalice as Varel nodded, then shot the older man a suspicious glare. "All right, but if I wake up in a ship bound for Rivain in nothin' but my smallclothes with a tattoo on my forehead, I'm blaming you."

If I hadn't been so nervous, I would have smiled. I fidgeted anxiously as Anders lifted the cup to his lips and took the long, bitter swallow with grace. I suppose, being a mage, he might be used to foul-tasting potions.

Anders handed the chalice back to Varel, grimacing at the taste but still standing steady. That was good. Reflecting on that night at Ostagar, Daveth had gone down, clutching his throat, almost instantly. I, the survivor, had been steady for a moment, then blacked out. With that guide in mind, my heart lifted a little when Anders didn't stagger, his eyes merely unfocused and then rolled back before he collapsed in a boneless heap. But it wasn't until Varel stepped forward to check his pulse and nodded that I let myself completely unwind.

A couple of guards gathered up the mage and hauled him off to his new quarters somewhere in the upper levels of the Keep.

"Mhairi," Varel called next, refilling the chalice and extending the cup to the lady recruit. "From this moment on, you are a Grey Warden."

Mhairi cupped the bone white goblet solemnly in her hands, stared down at the dark liquid pooled within, as though bracing herself. I could almost see the nervousness in her, the butterflies in her stomach, both excited and scared, like a servant stealing a kiss from a nobleman.

"This is it," she whispered reverently under her breath as she tilted her head back and swallowed the poison Wardens were demanded to master. I felt my breath hitch, dread undiluting in my stomach as that feeling, that sense increased.

She barely made it long enough to hand the chalice back to Varel. I was right, whatever it took to become a Warden, eager as she had been, Mhairi just didn't possess it. She staggered, a macabre imitation of Daveth, clutching her throat and gagging, dark eyes rolling back to show clouding whites, trembling as she hit her knees, then collapsed bonelessly to the floor.

Silence reigned for a moment. A weight settled over the room as all eyes fell to Mhairi's lifeless form, crumpled on the stone in her Warden armor. I glanced at Nathaniel. To his credit, he looked determined, his jaw set, unafraid. As he'd said... He had nothing left to lose.

"I am sorry, Mhairi," Varel said guiltily. I felt for him, I did. Of all of us here, he had probably known Mhairi best. Zevran and I barely knew her at all, and we were both too accustomed to death to be crippled by this one.

There was still work to be done. Darkspawn were about. Lives needed to be saved.

The body that was, only moments ago, a stoic young soldier, was moved aside, and Nathaniel moved forward for his turn at the chalice. No matter the losses, the Joining went on.

"Nathaniel Howe," Varel eyed the young man before him with a stony gaze. He reserved his judgment on the traitor Howe's son, but I could see scrutiny there. Nathaniel would need to prove himself in the days to come. Prove himself to us all, I supposed. His name had gone from noble to less than mud while he'd been gone. He had a lot to regain.

If he survived the next three minutes.

The seneschal handed over the cup to steady, strong hands. "From this moment on, you are a Grey Warden."

Nathaniel looked at the cup for a moment, grey eyes as stormy as the sea as he stared into his future. I wondered what he saw, there in his hands. What he felt. "The moment of truth," was all he said before tilting his head back and taking the swallow.

Nathaniel handed the cup to Varel and took a step back, sliding a nervous glance around the room as though double checking that he was still here. That he hadn't already dropped dead like Mhairi. My heart was beating triple time in my chest. I felt like I could barely breathe. Why? It had to be over between me and him. After what his family had done to mine... What I had done to his... With the uncertainty of whether or not he had been aware of what was going on – as much as I hoped he hadn't been involved, how could I believe it yet? – the best I was hoping for right now was civility between us.

Why did the thought of Nathaniel "failing" the Joining, his heart stilling and falling to the ground in what had until recently been his family's seat of power, make me sick to my stomach?

Ignoring the knowing, mocking whispers in the back of my mind, I told myself that I just didn't want to lose anyone else. Nathaniel had once been a familiar constant in my life after all. A friend. Potentially more. All that might be gone, but that didn't make his life – any guilt to his name unproven – any less valuable.

It was almost a full minute before he weaved on his feet, gradually becoming unsteady as the blood began to fuse into his system. My heart nearly stopped when his eyes rolled back in his head and he went down like a rock.

Maker, my body was a traitor. No, that's not true. It was honest where my mind wanted to lie to myself. And... Well, that was just how it was going to have to be... Wasn't it?

This time, I was the one who knelt and touched the curve of Nathaniel's neck, seeking and finding a strong, if rapid, pulse. I looked up to Varel with a brisk nod, feeling relief rush through my body like the tide on the Amaranthine shore.

"The Howe is stronger than we thought," he noted, sounding as though he approved of this outcome. "Guards, take him up to a roo-"

"His room," I interjected immediately, ignoring the odd stares I received for bringing it up. "This was his home, once. I think he at least deserves that. Here, you carry him, I'll show you where it is."

Okay, maybe the fact that I knew where his bedroom was sounded bad, but it wasn't what it sounded like. I, Tessa Cousland, was no harlot. Nathaniel and I had never been... Like that. When my family had come here visiting, and it was too stormy or had gotten too late for my brother and Nathaniel to be outside (usually with me tagging along on their heels), I went up to his room and sat with him, and he showed me how to work a lockpicking kit on his trunk or read together.

If reading was going through one of the stories he had and questioning everything the characters did, proposing our own ideas, or improvising our own. Nathaniel had always been so content with his place in the world, being a nobleman's eldest son, destined to lead his father's garrison, perhaps one day control these lands. His dreams had always been remarkably grounded in reality, as were his stories. As for myself... Even back then, I'd weaved tales of grand adventures, impossible feats, safe there inside the walls of his bedchamber, egged on by his amused glances, sarcastic questions, and warm, rusty laugh.

Funny how, years later, I'd found myself sitting by a campfire; hunted and mistrusted, while trying to wage a seemingly impossible war to save my homeland, my family recently slaughtered, asking an elderly mage if it was possible that I was never even meant to be normal.

Hours later... I still hadn't left Nathaniel's chamber. I was standing by the window, leaning against the cool stone of the ledge, peering out the thick pane of glass as the rain outside spattered randomly against it. The sky beyond the clouds was lightening, watery rays of morning light peeking through the gloom to announce the break of dawn when I heard a soft groan and the rustle of sheets behind me.

I turned my head to see Nathaniel sitting up unsteadily in his canopied bed. One with green and gold Orlesian silk sheets, befitting a noble's heir. He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, wincing in pain at the ache the Joining was sure to have left in his temple, slowly dragging it back to rake it through black hair tousled from an uneasy, nightmare-riddled sleep. Slowly, he turned his head to the side, letting his gaze fall on me.

"You." Oh, well, that was a warm greeting. I guess I didn't deserve any better, but, still. "I survived, then?"

"Obviously. Congratulations." I turned to face Nathaniel, watching as his gaze shifted around his childhood room, noting that his leather armor and his bow and quiver had been moved up here. When I left, I imagined he would be quick to change out of the prisoner's rags he was currently wearing. "You're now a Grey Warden."

"And you're my Commander." It was said as a fact, but there was a note of bitter resignation there. "Fitting... You get my lands. Now you have me."

I ignored the way that line, in different circumstances, might have once made my heart jump. Instead, I narrowed my eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, Commander." Nathaniel's tone was cold and empty, and he got up from his bed, swaying briefly on his feet before steadying. "If you don't mind, could you leave so I can change? I imagine we have better things to do today than stand around here."

Childish though it was, I hated to admit that he had a point. I just turned and walked from his room, heading down to the throne room of the Keep, where I found Varel and two others waiting on me.

"Good, Commander," Varel began in a slightly distressed tone. "Glad to see you. We have some things we need to discuss. It seems the Orlesian Wardens sent one of their men out scouting... Only, well, he hasn't returned."

"Do you know what he was after, or where he was going?" I asked curiously, folding my arms behind my head to listen. The other two, the guard captain, if I remembered correctly, and an older woman, exchanged a look. I suppose I wasn't what one would expect for the Commander of the Gray and new Arlessa of Amaranthine.

"No, the Wardens kept their own counsel, but from what I did gather, he was going to Amaranthine."

"Where would I even look for him?"

"I would imagine the same place you would check for any traveler in a city," he prompted gently. "The inns and taverns. He might have rented a room there."

Good point. I pinned that to my mental list of 'things that needed to be done soon', but before I could say anything more, the guard captain cut in.

"Excuse me, my Lady," he said hurriedly. "But we have another problem. The Wardens were following a lead... About a darkspawn breeding ground somewhere in the arling."

Wait. Okay, this had my attention. "Did they mention where?"

"No... But I know who the lead they were going to check up on is. A pair of hunters that live outside of Amaranthine. I imagine you would be able to find them outside of the city gates."

Since when is a hunter's tale a viable lead...? I didn't voice the doubt though.

"Alright, I'll-"

"Wait, Arlessa Cousland," That title made me fidget a little. I was used to being referred to as "Commander". Being reminded that I was also now the lady of the land was... Strange. Which, in itself, was strange, seeing as before my recruitment I had been training to take such a position for most of my life. "I know you have duties as Commander of the Grey, but you also have a duty to take care of your arling. And Amaranthine is currently being plagued by a problem that requires immediate attention!"

Sighing, I looked over at the severe looking lady. "Alright, I'll bite. Who are you, and what is this problem?"

"I am Mistress Woolsey, Commander," she introduced herself with a stiff curtsey. "I was sent by the First Warden in Weisshaupt himself, to act as treasurer for your arling."

"He sent me a treasurer?" I asked incredulously. "What I could really use is more Wardens... Besides, don't I have capable men right here? Was this really necessary?"

"The First Warden feels that even the noblest of men can be swayed when gold is involved."

"One of those men happens to be standing right here, Mistress Woolsey," Varel noted dryly, the respectful tone of his voice strained at the insinuation he would steal money from his people.

"Yes, well, regardless, I am here. And there is a problem with trade in the area, if you have not yet been here long enough to notice." Woolsey's brow furrowed and she looked concerned. Distressed, even. "There have been attacks on merchant caravans along our trading route from Denerim, in the Wending Wood. This is making it difficult, and, frankly, dangerous, for any traders to make it into the arling."

"And so you want me to check this out too?" I asked with a soft sigh. "Call me crazy, but doesn't this sound like a matter for the guard?"

"It might be if we had enough to spare," Captain Garavel replied heavily. "But after the Blight, our numbers are too few to spare. And, frankly, Commander, you are new around here. It would do some good for you to prove yourself to the people. To show that you'll take an interest in their problems."

He was right. And suddenly, I found myself glad to have a small cluster of people who knew what they were doing, who actually wanted to help me succeed in running this arling. After my parents had been killed, I had pretty much figured I would never have to worry about politics and owning lands again. Grey Wardens lived a life filled with wandering, chasing and studying darkspawn. Not holding court in a Keep somewhere.

So I had missions lined up already: Find the Orlesian Warden, find the darkspawn breeding ground, and find out what was going on with the trade route. My experience as a Warden called out for the first two to take priority, and my noble heritage nagged at me that I should secure the well being of my people before attending to a crisis that was merely still brewing. I didn't like it... But, Maker, what choice did I have?

"When Nathaniel and Anders get down here, we're off to the Wending Wood," I announced. "Make sure they're outfitted properly." With that, I marched out of the Keep, out into the fading rain into the cool Ferelden morning.


End file.
